


mic check

by shouldbeworking



Series: shuake week 2020 [2]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - No Powers, Dirty Talk, Gunplay (mentioned), M/M, Public indecency, Shuake Week 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:35:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27609791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shouldbeworking/pseuds/shouldbeworking
Summary: ShuAke Week 2020 Day 2: Corruption /Masks/ Games“Why don’t you make yourself useful and cause a distraction?” Futaba says in his ear.So Ren does.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: shuake week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2017408
Comments: 12
Kudos: 247





	mic check

“ _Joker—_ ” the voice in his ear growls.

“Oracle,” Ren growls back. He doesn’t do a great job of it—his tone is not very convincing because he has to talk discreetly into his drink while he pretends to take another sip, and he ends up choking a little.

The drink is good, though. As long as it’s not in his lungs.

“ _Joker, Fox is already in position. He has this._ ”

“But—”

“ _No buts, mister!!_ ” Futaba screeches, loud and piercing and sharp enough to literally pierce Ren’s skull which is nice. “ _Now shut up before someone catches you whispering to yourself figures out you’re being super fucking suspicious!!_ ”

“Ow,” Ren mumbles miserably.

 _Super fucking suspicious_ … come on, she could give him a little more credit. He has an extremely valid invitation for this little masquerade shindig—it’s not his fault the invitation doesn’t have his name on it. They misprinted it. Misprinted every single part of his name, somehow.

He’s at an actual masquerade party in a rich asshole’s mansion, if anything Ren is the least suspicious person here. Especially because, even though he’s _the leader of the Phantom Thieves_ , apparently his mission control has decided Fox was better positioned to pull off their heist.

Ren pouts into his cocktail, starts actually drinking it rather than continuing to pretend. It’s not like he has anything to do now anyway…

Oh shit, Futaba is still talking.

“ _…don’t you make yourself useful and cause a distraction?_ ”

A distraction? Now that Ren can do. Especially because…

He glances around the party—sparkling decorations, sparkling dresses, sparkling champagne. Glitter and fluff, not quite what he’s looking for, not what he saw earlier tonight, lurking around the edges of the ballroom…

There he is.

God, that mask is atrocious. The thing could be spotted from space. Ren is surprised it hasn’t killed anyone via accidental impalement yet. It’s perfect.

He tips back the rest of his drink in one long, cold sip—wipes his mouth on his sleeve like the common working-class peasant he is, and adjusts his own mask.

“I’ve got a distraction for you,” he murmurs to the voice in his ear, then meanders his way across the room.

“ _Great! So what are you—wait. Oh no. No. Not him._ ”

“You said ‘distraction,’” Ren sings.

“ _Anything but Akechi!_ ”

Ren sidles up to Detective Akechi Goro’s high-top table which is easy because he’s alone, of course. He gets inside Akechi’s eyeline, leans on an elbow, very casual, very cool. “You know,” Ren says. “With a nose like that, one might think you’re compensating for something.”

Akechi turns his attention toward Ren slowly, like he doesn’t care at all (he does). Raises an eyebrow. “Whereas it appears you’ve decided to imply you possess nothing at all.”

“ _I hate this,_ ” Futaba grumbles.

“Or maybe that I don’t need to show off.”

Akechi barks out a short laugh. “Not looking to impress?” He looks Ren up and down with the bitchiest, most sarcastic look he’s ever seen. Ren adores him. “That, I assure you, is obvious.”

“ _Oh, burn._ ”

Every thief must have a detective—how lucky is Ren that this one is his? His nerdy little outfit, shiny and white. Nerdy little mask, bright red and way too extra for the occasion. It takes a special kind of man to purposely dress like an uptight fool when Ren knows intimately that Akechi is exactly the opposite.

He’s so taken that he forgets to speak, just stares at his detective with a dumb little smile on his face.

“What could have made you sneak your slimy way into this gala, Amamiya? If I recall correctly you seem to be more fond of run-down cafés and dark alleyways.” Akechi prompts for him.

Ren is going to ignore the _slimy_ comment. That dark alleyway was fun, though—his knees hurt for at least a week after. “I’m here for you, of course,” he says, flashing his most blinding smile.

Akechi is unimpressed. Right… they’ve been playing their little game for so long that Ren can’t help but fall into old patterns. They’re kind of past that stage in their “relationship.” Have been ever since the incident in Odaiba—turns out being forced to work together was eye-opening for the both of them.

Ren dares to step closer, dares even more to run a gentle hand down Akechi’s arm. “You know I can’t tell you that.”

“And why not?”

Ren pouts, flutters his eyelashes. “Because you’re not going to like me anymore.”

“What makes you think I like you now?” Akechi grabs his drink from the table and… he just saunters away. Without another word.

Oh, the games they play.

Ren watches him go, a real sight to see in that tight white suit of his, and swipes himself another drink from the bar. For courage. “Does Fox still need that distraction?”

“ _I’m this close to lying to you and letting him get caught,_ ” Futaba grumbles, her keyboard clacking away in the background.

“I won’t tell him you said that.”

“ _I’m turning off your mic._ ”

“But what if I need you?”

“ _You’re the worst person in—_ ”

“Love you too,” Ren says, already chasing after his detective.

“ _Ugh._ ”

He slides between columns and tables, dresses and suits and one extraordinarily elaborate feathered costume of which Ren is only a little bit jealous. It’s getting late in the night, people are dancing and laughing and getting plenty raucous and tipsy but Akechi still clearly isn’t trying to hide—Ren finds him easily. Standing amongst a larger group, security within sight, still not talking to anyone, a new drink in his hand. Almost like he knew exactly where Ren needed him to be.

Ren places his empty glass on a nearby table, slides in behind Akechi and—

Akechi jumps. “Awfully forward, Amamiya,” he hisses through gritted teeth.

Ren chuckles, gives Akechi’s ass another healthy squeeze. He rests his chin on Akechi’s shoulder, breathes in expensive shampoo and even more expensive cologne. “It’s a masquerade,” he murmurs, wraps his arms around Akechi’s front and presses a light kiss to his neck. “No one knows who we are.”

Ren can feel him tense thanks to the slightly affronted looks from other partygoers are throwing their way. But Akechi is Akechi and doesn’t back down. “And yet you knew me,” he says, clasping his hands on top of Ren’s.

“And you knew me. I’d recognize your ass anywhere, it belongs to me,” Ren announces, plenty loud enough for anyone near them to hear.

“ _Fox, hurry it up and grab the stupid files before I literally die of embarrassment._ ”

Akechi spins around in his grasp, nearly hitting Ren in the face with that ridiculous beak of his. “None of me belongs to you,” he snarls.

“Don’t you remember the hotel in Kichijoji? You seemed to think differently then—cried out so beautifully while I was inside you.”

Futaba makes a strangled sort of _beep_ sound that Ren has never heard come from a human before. A man in a blue mask near them coughs awkwardly and shuffles away. More people are looking at them.

Well, it’s working. Now he just has to not get killed by a volatile detective with a weapon of mass destruction strapped to the front of his face.

“I remember Kichijoji differently and,” said volatile detective growls, draping his arms atop Ren’s shoulders. He leans close to the ear with Futaba, murmurs quickly and precisely: “considering your fondness for firearms, you should know I have your favorite on my person.”

Oh shit. Ren glances down, finds slightly tented trousers along with the telltale bulge of a concealed pistol. He can practically taste the metal and gunpowder, the last time they—

“ _Uh, guys, we might have a problem,_ ” Futaba says quickly while Ren’s heart rate ratchets up. But, well, not for the reason Futaba is thinking. She’s fair and right to want to warn the team, considering Ren _has_ been shot by Akechi before, but this… definitely isn’t a threat.

The Phantom Thieves are never going to let Ren live this down. These files better be worth it. Akechi knew exactly what he was doing, the absolute bastard.

“I think tonight I’d rather have your cock than your gun,” Ren says quickly, a pathetic attempt at damage control.

“What makes you think you have to choose?” Akechi chuckles. His eyes burn as he traces a thumb along Ren’s bottom lip. “You’re a gifted multitasker, aren’t you, Ren?”

There’s a beat of silence. Ren imagines the scenario, considers if this is the horniest he’s ever been right as Futaba finally shouts “ _wait—what the fuck!?_ ” in his ear.

A quiet pause.

“ _Never mind, false alarm. Joker’s going to be in debt for the rest of his life to pay for my therapy but he’s not in any danger._ ”

Ah well. Kink uncovered, dignity erased. Ren is a team player, self-sacrificing to boot, and no one can ever say differently. He smacks Akechi across the face to push his stupid enormous mask away and crushes their lips together with so much force that they both end up stumbling backwards into another table.

There’s some lovely shattering of glass, some lovelier affronted gasps and murmurs from the people around them. Ren moans loudly and obnoxiously for effect, and starts feeling up his government-assigned detective with so much vigor that he swears he feels Akechi choke down a laugh.

Akechi keeps up, though, which is awfully nice of him.

The staff works fast here—no surprise, considering no one else at this gala has dared to make it to second base in plain sight of the entire ballroom and there’s definitely not a heist in progress. Ren and Akechi have only just managed to knock into another table when Ren feels a shy little tap on his shoulder.

“Excuse me? Sirs, I’m going to have to ask you to separate, you’re disturbing the other guests.”

Ren spins them around, gives himself the gift of another handful of Akechi’s ass. Akechi grabs blindly at a tablecloth behind him and manages to drag it and all of its contents to the floor with a resounding crash.

“Sirs—!” The brave and underpaid staff member huffs and puts a finger to his ear (amateur move). “Can I get some help here?

Ren moans again, as loud as he can. Just to really sell it to whatever poor bastard is on the other end of the line. A woman behind them makes a face, so Ren winks at her.

It takes three security guards to pull them apart. The first one didn’t seem to want to touch them at all and the second one wasn’t strong enough on his own. They’re in the middle of being asked to leave by that original staff member—though Ren isn’t really listening, he’s a little drunk and he’s too busy making eyes at Akechi—when it happens.

All of the distracted staff and guards put their fingers to their ears (again, amateurs).

Ren blows Akechi a kiss. Akechi mimes shooting him in the face.

“What?” says one of the guards—the third one, the big one. Then gets a very serious face. “No we were— _shit_. Call in everyone, shut down the exits, they can’t have gone far!”

“ _Mwehehe, yes he can!_ ” Futaba announces in triumph.

Cool. Fox is gone. The guards and staff are running off. The other partygoers are all muttering amongst themselves, Ren and Akechi forgotten. Mission success. Ren can leave this party now.

He should leave the party.

“ _You should leave, Joker_ ,” his orange-haired conscience grumbles in his ear.

Akechi appears beside him, his lips pleasantly red. “Well well, what have you done now?”

“Me? Nothing.” Ren smiles, fixes Akechi’s mask a bit. The nose was crooked. He looks meaningfully towards the bathroom before he can stop himself, raises his eyebrows suggestively. Because he’s absolutely not leaving this party. “Not yet.”

And he never knows what to expect from Akechi, so he really should have expected that instead of his usual coyness and dance Akechi just shrugs and says: “Fine. I don’t give a fuck about these rich sycophants anyway.”

Ren blinks, a little stunned. “What?”

“Oh, I’m not here on business, Amamiya,” Akechi smiles. “I wanted to see your show. I never expected I’d end up a part of it though—how was my performance?”

Ren quickly makes an addendum to an earlier thought— _this_ is the horniest he’s ever been.

“ _No! No!!_ ” Futaba screams in his ear. “ _I can’t take it anymore! I’m turning off the mic! If you die it’s your fault!_ ”

“I’ll race you,” Ren says to his detective, then takes off at a full sprint towards the men’s room.

**Author's Note:**

> catch me [@shouldbewerking](https://twitter.com/shouldbewerking)


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